


kinktober 2019 - day 8

by birdginia, mondegreened (Mondegreen)



Series: Kinktober 2019 [8]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Blood and Gore, Extremely Dubious Consent, Guro, M/M, Sex Pollen, Trans Male Character, Viera Lore, Viera Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), cameo appearances from some fc mates, murder pollen?, wound fisting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 11:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20947595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdginia/pseuds/birdginia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mondegreen/pseuds/mondegreened
Summary: It feels like the first time since he left the Wood that he's been alone.





	kinktober 2019 - day 8

**Author's Note:**

> what's up gamers, the following fic is brought to you by my wife/beta [scotty](https://twitter.com/Mondegreened), who gave me permission to write [their warrior of light](https://fujishimakanako.tumblr.com/post/188207307568/behold-mjrn-i-know-i-never-post-ffxiv-caps-here) getting absolutely demolished by zenos. most of this is stuff i wrote but some choice character moments and Viera Lore were added by them. there's also cameos from my and a few of my friends' characters, including [poisonwithtrash's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonwithtrash/pseuds/poisonwithtrash)!
> 
> hope you enjoy!

It feels like the first time since he left the Wood that he's been alone.

From his very first steps into Eorzea, Mjrn has formed bonds—in every city-state, of every class and walk of life, with man and beastman alike. Even the Twelveswood herself seemed to embrace him in her loving boughs, guiding him along his long journeys through her and beyond. He's found dear friends, awkward acquaintances, lovers, rivals, _more_ lovers—

But they all feel farther away than even Muscadet Village right now, all engaged in their own private battles all throughout Ala Mhigo. The Scions, the Alliance leaders, even the ill-fated adventurers Mjrn had asked to accompany him on this mission are all locked in combat, keeping the way clear for their Warrior of Light to square off against their final target.

("Go get 'im, bunny-boy," Nahwah'li had told him, tipping his gods-ugly hat Mjrn _knows_ he made himself, before stumbling backwards to parry a blow.

Tutufi had giggled, smiling that cheery smile that didn't quite reach her worried eyes, but she didn't have time to say anything before a group of at least ten men swarmed her, blocking her small frame from his view.)

The walk to the Menagerie feels like leaving all of those people, those bonds, behind.

Mjrn can only hope he'll return home.

His stomach turns as he steps outside. The moon is high overhead, the sounds of battle muffled behind the grand door that slowly closes with a long, low noise.

Zenos yae Galvus stands across the courtyard.

"Only you?" Zenos’ teeth glint in the moonlight. "I could ask for nothing better."

Mjrn lifts his katana wordlessly. Zenos' swords are all sheathed, and he makes no move to draw one as Mjrn steps closer. His insides churn, his blood pulses in his fingers—he doesn't usually get this nervous before a fight, what's wrong with him?

He's scarce fulms away from perfect charging range when he's hit by a wave of nausea that buckles his knees, sending him stumbling. He barely manages to pick himself up into a passable fighting stance, shaking his head to try and clear it. Zenos laughs, raising an arm.

"So it's true, then." Zenos flexes his fingers, and the air around them shifts, shudders. Mjrn swears he can see the very aether starting to solidify around it. "Too much of your precious aether can bring any savage to his knees. Even the great Warrior."

It isn't like any magic Mjrn has witnessed; it's nothing but the accumulation of aether, drawing it from the surroundings like a vortex without manipulating it to attack or defend, simply to overwhelm Mjrn with its weight. Nothing Mjrn could replicate, not with little to no mage training, all of his fighting ability honed on the physical plane. But he was not given Hydaelyn's gift for nothing, and he focuses all his will on taking the aether into his body, letting Eorzea's bounty flow through him. He’s stood in the presence of primals. He’s held the eye of an ancient dragon in his hands. A little Mist is nothing to him. He can turn this around, he’ll use Zenos' plan against him, and—

Mjrn sees red.

The thick miasma of aether suddenly feels like river rapids, pushing him forward to strike at Zenos in an instant. Zenos dodges, but the sword glances off of his armor, and the sound sets off something in Mjrn that has him lining up for the next strike, and then another, and another, at speeds that feel impossible for even his own eyes to track.

Zenos has his own sword out after the third blow, going from dodging to blocking with equal grace, and the clash of steel on steel makes Mjrn's blood sing for more.

But in his battle euphoria, his grip must falter for half a moment, and with a decisive parry Zenos knocks Mjrn's blade out of his hands, sending it flying into a patch of flowers.

It's within range. He could dash for it easily; he has not spent this much time with the shinobi both in and out of Eorzea for naught.

But by the time that thought crosses his mind, he's already closed the gap between himself and Zenos, grasping for him bare-handed.

Zenos must not have expected that, because his block is slow, and he interrupts Mjrn's hands with an arm instead of with his blade. Mjrn scrabbles at the armor uselessly, digging his nails into anywhere he can find purchase.

He doesn't know what he's doing. There's a small fraction of his mind telling him to stop this useless effort and lunge for his sword, but the rest of him is screaming for blood, for flesh, for the satisfaction of tearing at every part of Zenos he can reach with his own hands.

And the former starts to go quiet.

Zenos is boxed in enough that he can't quite manage a full slash at Mjrn, and Mjrn follows him with every step he takes backwards for more room. His fingers find an opening in Zenos' armor and he pulls, plates creaking against each other but not separating. He reaches up further for Zenos' throat, instead, and Zenos has to drop his blade to grab at Mjrn's hands with both of his own.

Mjrn plants his feet into the ground and strains desperately against Zenos' grip, images of Zenos' throat spilling open under his claws overwhelming him—red running down his black chestplate, matting his golden hair, threads of muscle stretching and snapping as Mjrn pulls the wound open more and more, the wet gurgle of a scream before his vocal cords are ruined forever, his beautiful face contorted into a mask of pain and terror—

But it does not come to pass. Zenos leverages his body forward and Mjrn finds himself falling back, with nowhere to go and no means to balance himself as Zenos tackles him full to the ground.

Zenos' hands are enormous, Mjrn notes dully, as the crown prince of Garlemald takes both of his slender wrists easily in one gauntleted hand and pins them above his head. His glasses are gone, thrown from his face in the fall, maybe broken. A growl curls his lips as Zenos spreads his legs and sits atop Mjrn's thighs, aborting any attempt Mjrn could make to regain his balance. He struggles desperately, his blood begging for the chance to keep fighting, to keep _hurting_, his desire for a chance to even nick Zenos' pale skin overpowering any logical concern for his survival.

Zenos is massive. Mjrn knows this, has kept it in mind in their previous battles when calculating the reach of his blade, trying to strategize the way Musosai-sensei taught him—but he seems even bigger up close, his very presence overwhelming. Mjrn can smell the sweat off of him, can see it bead at his temple and gloss his hair.

He wonders how it would taste.

Without examining that thought further, Mjrn leans up as far as he can and tries to bite at the flesh of Zenos' face.

Zenos tilts his head to avoid it by ilms, and laughs. "Beast. Have you truly lost all of your limited senses?"

Words bubble up at the back of Mjrn’s mind, angry snarls, cheeky rejoinders, but all that comes out of his mouth is an animal growl, and he snaps at Zenos again.

"Truly pathetic. That your people are so easily reduced to further savagery than even your Eorzean brothers—I scarcely believed it, when my subordinate told me of his research."

_Mist frenzy_, the remains of Mjrn's mind finally conjure up, _can't, not here, not now—_

Zenos puts his free hand to Mjrn's chin, appraising him as one would a chocobo. Mjrn bites at his fingers, then yelps as his teeth clink on the metal of Zenos’ gauntlets.

Zenos laughs, and instead of removing his hand, plunges two fingers further into Mjrn's mouth, the taste and scent of metal and polish filling his senses. His fingers are long, enough that Mjrn is instantly gagging on them, his throat working to keep from vomiting all over the both of them.

Something hot twinges in Mjrn's core. 

Mjrn bites down again on pure instinct, but to no avail, and the grinding of tooth on metal sends a wretched shudder through his body. But now his lips are closed around Zenos' fingers, and sense-memory floods his mind, filling it with other hands, other men, other times his blood ran hot and his body was bound, and then his hips are thrusting forward uselessly without his permission.

Zenos removes his hand, and Mjrn chases after it without hesitation, his mouth no longer seeking to bite.

The laugh that comes forth from Zenos sounds abrupt, surprised even, but no less cruel. "Well, the late Medicus certainly didn't mention _this_,” he says, and replaces his fingers. Mjrn finds himself sucking at them immediately, almost desperately, a whine escaping his throat as his body grows hotter with each passing moment.

This time, when Zenos removes his hand, he reaches down Mjrn's body, deftly working at the straps of his hakama before reaching inside, past his smallclothes. The chill of metal finding his cunt makes him flinch for barely a moment before he's moaning, craving any touch there that he can have, the knowledge of who this man is and what he's done completely out the door compared to the feeling of relief that washes over Mjrn as Zenos drags his gauntlets across his sex.

He removes his hand, to Mjrn's vocal dismay, and inspects the glistening fluid coating the fingers that had touched him for barely a moment.

"Truly?" he asks, blandly. "This is the eikon-slayer's will? To be bound, beaten, and _fucked_?”

The shape of the last word on Zenos' lips has Mjrn shivering, divorcing it completely from the humiliation the rest of his words should have brought.

Zenos' smile is entirely teeth. "I suppose you are entitled to one final request."

Mjrn feels blood trickle down his wrist as his nails break the skin of his palms, clenching his fists uselessly, the only movement of his hands still afforded to him. The sting of it does nothing to ground him, only adding to the swirling sea of both bloodlust and carnal lust he's drowning in. Zenos' hand is back on him, teasing his gauntleted fingertips along Mjrn's swollen slit and gripping his wrists with his other hand, so tight it feels as though the blood will stop flowing from his palms.

Having his cunt breached feels less and less like a violation with each passing moment as Zenos thrusts his fingers inside, the joints at his knuckles catching and scraping at Mjrn’s insides in a way that would be unpleasant, were it not for the aether madness turning every sensation into pulsating pleasure that leaves him moaning wantonly at every minute movement.

Zenos’ movements are not minute for long, as Mjrn's gasps spur him on to thrust harder, what feels like at least three huge fingers stretching him brutally, too fast yet still not enough for his stricken body. His clit feels like a raw nerve, sending electric shocks up his spine at the slightest accidental touch. He wants more, needs more, tries to say as much but finds himself unable to form anything resembling a word with his open, slack mouth.

"Truly an animal," Zenos scoffs, "Mayhap I should bring you back to Garlemald as breeding stock. Would you sire killers of your own proficiency?"

Mjrn's mind halts at the word _breeding_, his thighs clenching around Zenos' hand, his hips stuttering, desperate for purchase, until he finally hits an angle that scorches his entire body and he rides it until he comes screaming.

The waves of pleasure seem to go on for bells and bells, hitting him like blows from Zenos' sword over and over as Zenos continues thrusting his fingers in and out of Mjrn without mercy. It must be obvious what has happened, because Zenos' smile twists and he's laughing even harder than before.

"Such easy sport in all aspects,” Zenos says, finally retrieving his hand from the clench of Mjrn's body, and Mjrn whines, loud and pathetic, his cunt aching with the loss.

"Oh?" Zenos mocks, "You wish to have all your filthy holes filled, then?"

Nothing is left within Mjrn to keep him from nodding desperately.

"Well, I suppose I'll just have to make more," Zenos says, and picks up the katana lying at his side.

The blade slices cleanly through Mjrn's light armor and across his stomach before Mjrn can even blink, and his ecstatic moans morph into screams as Zenos plunges a hand _inside the wound_.

Musosai-sensei had once explained ritual disembowelment to him, how the process is so painful that the role of a second man to remove the offender's head is considered a necessary honor. Mjrn understands now.

(The feeling of his flesh being rent open is all too familiar, but the lingering agony is the strange part—the anticipation of it being instantly healed again is even more present, somehow, when he knows it isn’t coming. If Ikarqousk were here—

If Ikarqousk were here, it would be laughing at him, probably. Telling him that it had expected this inevitable tryst and would happily heal his wounds once he’d gotten his fill.)

Zenos is wrist-deep inside Mjrn, blood spattering up his gauntlets and staining the black to red, but it's difficult to see even that much with the thick dark fog of pain behind his eyes. Blood fills his mouth and nose, and he coughs it straight onto Zenos' smiling face. He can't tilt his head high enough to get a good look at the hole in his stomach, but he can feel just how enormous it is, how much blood is gushing forth and spilling over his sides.

Zenos' expression has softened from pure cruelty to something like bliss. Every scream he tears out of Mjrn's throat seems to send him higher, until it's obvious that his heaving breaths are not from exertion alone.

At the edge of Mjrn's fading mind, hazy from the Mist and the agony, he wonders if they could experience that pleasure together.

He starts awake with a gasp when the pain suddenly ceases and the cool, familiar sting of a potion hits his skin. Zenos holds an empty bottle in his hands and is staring down at the rapidly healing wound.

"You have several of these at your belt," Zenos muses. "We've not much time until either your army or mine ends our joyous reunion. I don't particularly care which." He raises his sword again. "We'll have to make the most of our time before I'm forced to kill you."

Mjrn feels his blood rush hot through his body, as if it is waiting impatiently for Zenos to spill it.

Perhaps it is.

Perhaps he has been.

**Author's Note:**

> my twitter is over at [@Slotheyyyyy](https://twitter.com/Slotheyyyyy), check it out for updates on this year's kinktober and maybe even gposes of my own character's shitty glams!


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